Writing For Life

I've skipped my last couple of writer's groups. On purpose. As I'm wading through, figuring out what I want to be when I grow up, I decided to give it a couple of outings and then sit back for a bit and mull. I'm currently mulling.

While I see a lot of really positive things I could get out of this group, I'm stumbling with a few negatives. And I'm feeling the need to explore through them in order to make a decision.
- I'm not in love with the pressure. Which, I'm sure, says a LOT about my goals as a writer. But I just don't respond to the 'need to write / got to write' mantra that has been in my head since beginning.
-I'm not a night person. There. I said it. I start fading in late afternoon and my brain is not firing on all cylinders come nightfall (hence MANY an embarrassing tale floating out among the book club!). I'm just not my best at night and writer's group is at night.
-I'm not sure I'm a "writer". I think this is the crux of the issue. What if my life long dream of writing needs to be given up? What if that's just not my calling? Hmmm. The instant sick to my stomach feeling probably means that isn't true, right? But while I'm still struggling with self doubt and identity, should I really keep going?
-Writing is a very solitary activity and the solitude is one of the perks, in my mind. Would I benefit more from an on-line group instead of a "make my head turn scarlet at rebukes" group (I, uh, mean in person group. Of course.).

Two weeks ago I had absolutely convinced myself to quit cold turkey and explore other things. I told Isaac of my decision and felt fine. But now....? I just don't know. I lost my manuscript. Just...closed the tab without thinking (or saving, of course) and lost an entire chunk of work. I couldn't get it back. I was vexed, but didn't cry. But it was around then that I decided to quit and now I'm wondering if the frustration manifested that way instead of crazy swears at the computer. I'm not sure. I can't make the next meeting so I have just about three weeks to make up my mind. Or become a sometimes random member. Which, I'm pretty sure, isn't profitable.

I never had a crisis of who I was in college. I knew, from very young, I needed to write. Why am I questioning it now? And why am I so unsure of one of the only things I've been sure about for 30 years?


(everyday i write the book, elvis costello)

And....After

Oh. You guys. I may have CRIED when I saw it all done. It stressed me out. It was ridiculously expensive and set our house payoff plans back a few months. It is absolutely crazy and tiring. But oh. Oh it is done (well...their part, anyway!). And it is beautiful. I'm sure I'll forget their colossal mistakes soon. Because it all seems to have come together.

Two views of the one half the front.


There will be garden boxes on the gravel lining the fence. As soon as we put them back up. And paver stones in the park strip and for the garbage cans. And something to sit on, on our new extended porch.

Two views of the other.


Again. Garden boxes on the gravel.

Side yard:


We bought Sammy a little trampoline that will go just outside the window - behind the a/c unit. He's so excited for it to go up already! Lavender on the side by the house (by the a/c unit) where all the bark is.

And back:


Pavers in the corner for the fire bowl to sit on and a cherry tree in the corner by the (extended!) driveway.

And lilacs planted on the OTHER side of the house:


Here's a cool shot of the three types of materials in the back:


Our to-do list seems SO MUCH MORE doable, now. Halleluiah!


(the cost, the frames)

That One Weekend I Was Totally Spontaneous

I spent last weekend in Denver. On the spur-ish of the moment. Which is so very unlike me. My friend was coming back from her adventure in Europe and was headed to our other friend's house. And the plan for me to come and join them was hatched.

I've known these girls for 20+ years. And all at once, it seems like forever - like I've never NOT known them and no time at all - has it really been that long?!


We had a great weekend. We stayed up late and talked and talked. We shopped. We ate. It had been way too long since we had all been together.


A trip to Denver isn't complete until you have breakfast at Snooze. Best.Breakfast.Burrito.Ever. I'm not even kidding a little bit. Look:


While book browsing, we came along this little number. Because when looking for purse options, what's better than rubber chicken? And looking for books, being scared by creepy fake old men reading newspapers?


And then there was food. Lots of it. In order to walk. And walk. And walk. Shoe shopping. Art museuming. Gelato eating. We needed the fuel.


And as good as it was, I had a tough time. I missed my boys a great deal. I saw myself through new eyes. I figured a few things out. I was surrounded by close friends and felt a little lonely. I felt out of my element in many ways. It was an eye opening weekend in a lot of ways and I've felt a little somber about it. For what I learned and for these women whom I adore and have known forever and how it's just been so long since we've all inhabited the same space and what a shame that really is. For being spontaneous, it was something.




(crying in the rain, a-ha)

Open Isn't Shut

Our bed is positioned right under our window. We've tossed around other configurations, but none flow really well. So under the window, it is. And, as normal couples do, we have sides of the bed. Mine is the side NOT directly under the open window. We live in a beautiful place that soars, temperature wise, during the day and still plummets at night. We have the one under the window with no hair on the head and the one who is not running hormonally hot. The open window at night makes for one happy mamma and one unhappy papa.

We have tried compromise after compromise and still can't figure a way to satisfaction for both of us. The past few nights, we've had the window wide open, cool breeze blowing and me snuggled deep into blankets. My favorite way to sleep. Some nights it's been fine for Isaac, but last night I know he got cold. But I have a good husband who mostly puts my needs above and he suffered through. Even if I did hear talk of "his turn" soon.

This seems an insolvable dilemma - short of separate bedrooms. We've tried switching sides and neither of us could sleep. Isaac has tried skull caps, but doesn't like them. We've tried "open at first and then closed somewhere in the middle of the night", but...um...really. I'm not waking up for that and he hates being the one to always have to remember (I get that). And it seems every year we have the same discussion and every spring/fall the window open or closed discussion runs rampant.

So. Here. Now. What do you all do? Open or closed? Neither? Spill.


(never gonna leave this bed, maroon 5)

Peter Pan He Is Not

Sammy is starting to lose memories - our first house, things we've done. I know it's all part of growing up and not remembering as well, but up until about six months ago, he remembered nearly everything. I won't lie - It's hurting me more than him, every time he responds, "I don't remember that".

My boy is going to be seven this summer. I'm struggling. Baby fat is going. He getting taller day after day, as if being stretched every night. He's down 3.8 teeth since the beginning of the year. The other day he asked me not to walk him into the school in the morning, but to just let him run in on his own. He's big and so grown. He reads...anything. He needs me less and less.

Sometimes I see snippets of the baby I knew. When he's hurt. When he's scared. But those times are becoming fleeting and far too scarce. I see him growing and changing daily. I see this part of my life moving so far away from me that a couple, in line at the store, asking me what babies need bring me to tears. I have a moment of break down when talking about baby Sammy and how I only had that one shot.

But other times I experience nothing but extreme joy at the boy my baby is becoming. He's kind and funny and loves dissecting puns. I catch him reading and laughing after bedtime. I watch him full throat laugh and play with his dad and catch him standing on a stool to be 'taller than mommy'. He worries more than any six year old should. He's fascinated with details and the whys. We have a lot of fun together, my little boy and me. He never passes an opportunity for a family hug. He's so much the same and so grown up. And I very much wish that he could remember every detail from these years. Every single one.




(boys don't cry, the cure)